


Trust Fall

by Primarybufferpanel (ArwenLune)



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Biting, Dom!Cable, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/M, Fearplay, Knifeplay, Non-Sexual Kink, Non-Sexual Submission, kinkmeme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 11:03:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15705942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/pseuds/Primarybufferpanel
Summary: Cable was good at this. That wasn't the part that worried him. That was just a skill.A skill that intrigued Neena, apparently."You can be a scary fucker, Nate. Just so happens I'm into that."





	Trust Fall

**Author's Note:**

> For the kinkmeme prompt _'Cable can be a very intimidating sort of Dom. "I've got a list. We're gonna work down it, together"_
> 
> (I've tagged this as 'non-sexual kink' because it doesn't involve anybody's genitals or orgasms, but uh, it's pretty intense)
> 
> With many thanks to [Tyellas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyellas/pseuds/Tyellas), who aided and abetted and helped make this better than it was

Cable was good at this. That wasn't the part that worried him. That was just a skill.

A skill that intrigued Neena, apparently.

"You can be a scary fucker, Nate. Just so happens I'm into that."

They'd talked and talked about this. What she was looking for. Where he was willing to take her. He knew where the lines were, and how to tell if he was approaching them. He knew it was fine for him to use his telepathy if it helped him monitor where her head was at.

("It's uh, maybe kind of hot? That I can't hide my thoughts from you. I could be into it," she'd admitted)

No, being good at interrogating wasn't the worrisome part. It was that he _enjoyed_ it, sometimes. It wasn't so much the physical part, though there was its own satisfaction to inflicting precisely dosed and targeted pain. It was the power play of it, the way he could bring somebody under his spell, let a suggestion run away with their imagination and break their resolve. It was a heady kind of power.

Cable knew he was not a good man. He had done this to enemies, or to scum who had information he needed. What kind of man enjoyed doing this to the woman he loved?

They'd been rough before, he'd tied her up, he'd he'd spanked her, but that was different. Her enthusiastic responses left little doubt that she was into it. (She'd been a live wire across his lap, gasping and squirming and cursing encouragement, her ass flushed red and hot under his hand. The way she'd all but melted when he'd put his left hand firmly on the back of her neck - he still got hot just thinking about it). Making her scared of him, even just in a scene, was something else entirely, and he wasn't sure how he'd feel when she looked at him with fear.

Part of him was concerned he'd like it.

It wouldn't be the same kind of fear though, according to her. Not like a real interrogation. If she could be convinced that he really might pull out her fingernails or slit her throat, she wouldn't be here. She wanted to be scared of what was happening, a primal kind of fear, rather than be scared of him. He hoped to strike that balance.

 

He'd started the evening with tying her up. Normally bondage was a scene in and of itself, a slow sensuous process they both enjoyed, full of meaningful touches and eye contact. This time Nate had stripped her and roughly moved her limbs where he wanted them, tying her silently and as businesslike as he would tie cargo in the back of his truck. He could tell it had rattled her a little, which was a good start.

Neena was naked apart from a pair of lacy black panties—a reminder to both of them of what wasn't on the table today, fear and sex didn't combine for either of them. He'd tied a rope harness on her torso, her arms behind her back. Takate-kote. He'd tied her ankles and knees together and blindfolded her, and then picked her up by the rope, as if she was a package, and unceremoniously put her into the middle of the room they were using for this.

It was an unused bedroom, bare apart from the mattress he'd put in a corner and a big wooden chest. The air was cool, a good temperature for him in his boots and fatigues and tshirt, a bit too cold for her all but naked. That's how he'd planned it. Let her feel her lack of clothes, her lack of shields. He wanted her to feel vulnerable.

She stood in the middle of the room, a little wobbly with her ankles tied together, her nipples tightening.

He closed the door of the room with a gentle click. It didn't need to be closed, Wade was in Uruguay for a contract, they'd made very sure of that, but he wanted her to feel trapped.

 

His booted footsteps sounded loud in the room as he circled her, taking his time. Taking her in. She was breathing shallowly, and he could see her toes flex, as if she was trying to brace herself on the cold floor.

She'd been standing there long enough for the bravado to wear off a little, for the apprehension to set in. He came to a halt behind her and breathed over the tense line of her neck, making her shiver.

"I have a list," he said, "we're going to work down it, together." He let just a hint of sadistic enjoyment slip into his tone, and leaned in to breathe in her scent. She shivered. "Until I have exactly… what.. I.. want…"

She made a small, tremulous sound.

"You sure you know what you're in for here, my girl?" he asked, low and close to her ear. Still not touching her.

"Yeah, sure," she said with a nervous chuckle, "absolutely." She shivered, her skin raised into little bumps.

Her breath jolted when he stepped in a little closer, pressing his chest against her back, and she sighed and leaned into the heat of him, trusting.

He gave them both a moment to enjoy that, then nudged her forward, letting her fight for balance. She made an awkward little hop and sway, bound ankles ensuring that she couldn't adjust. Just when she'd steadied herself, he did it again, a little more sideways this time.

"Mother _fucker_ ," she said through gritted teeth, swaying dangerously.

He grinned, because he enjoyed the way she mouthed off to him during scenes, but that was not the mood he was going for here. He grabbed her by the upper arms, hard and sudden enough to make her yelp.

He pitched his voice low and dangerous. " _What_ did you just say?"

She made a tiny little whimper sound, and he could hear her thought: _oh shit_

"That's what I thought."

He swept her legs and let her go, bound arms meaning she couldn't catch her fall. She shrieked and tried to twist in the air, to at least not land on her face, and he grabbed hold of the back of her rope harness just in time to stop her from crashing to the hard floor.

Nate roughly hauled her back onto her feet in front of him, took his time to enjoy her panting. She was close enough that his tshirt brushed her shoulderblades, and _there_ it was, the apprehension he was looking for. He could feel her hesitate to touch him, unsure if that would cause him to push her again. She hunched her shoulders uneasily. He hadn't been sure if the fear of falling would still work on somebody generally confident of landing on her feet, but she'd responded beautifully.

Fuck, this was like how he imagined it was to play an instrument, manipulating, anticipating, steering her mind exactly where he wanted her. The excitement of it pounded through his body, made him feel sharp and alive and fully, completely present in the moment.

He knew she was trying to find some kind of pattern in his actions, discern some kind of rule she could follow - did she think that he pushed her because she'd touched him? - and amused himself for a while by adhering to it, making some space to leave her to wait for long minutes, then leaning in close. She actually tried to avoid his touch, to bend away from it as if not touching him would ensure he didn't shove her again. So he just kept leaning closer until she lost her balance, catching her just before she hit the floor.

Nate lifted her back on her feet, her back just a step away from the wall, his body invading her space again. He put his bionic hand flat on her abdomen, feeling her breath hitch.

Her lips moved with the softest 'please' she'd ever given him, an involuntary sigh more than a deliberate word, the kind that usually made him stop to kiss her. This time he just chuckled, low and mean.

"Please _what_?"

It seemed to remind her what kind of situation this was, if she'd even been aware or her plea to begin with, and she snapped her mouth shut, retreating a little further into herself. He pushed at her abdomen, letting her teeter on her heels for what had to feel like an eternity before she fell back against the wall. Her breath rushed out of her, and she sank down along the wall, either her knees or her resistance giving out.

He wasn't of a mind to allow her just yet. Gathering a good handful of hair, he tugged her back upright, making her scramble to get her feet under her. He lead her toward the middle of the room and left her for a moment, wobbly and shivering. She looked like she wanted to curl in on herself.

He pressed up against her back again, and this time she braced herself, clearly expecting another push, so he lightly stroked up her arms instead, caressed her shoulders, traced the lighter skin of her vitiligo marks with his nails, brushed her hair from her face. Ghosted the palm of his bionic hand over her throat, and she made a breathy little pleading noise that went to his head like a long swig of whiskey.

He gave into the impulse to grab her by the throat and feel the hammering of her heart.

"The things I want to _do_ to you…" he growled with his face pressed against the side of her head. He could smell the last traces of her perfume from that morning, and the oil she used for her hair, but mostly just her. _Fuck_ she smelled good. He wanted to devour her.

Neena sagged against him, held up by his body and the hand on her throat. Nate put his teeth to the back of her neck, feeling a little high on having her caught like this, between his hand and his teeth. He bit down gradually, not breaking the skin but a little less restrained than he'd normally do. She made a keening noise, and he chuckled when she started to first squirm and then struggle in earnest, in as much as she could.

He released her abruptly and stepped back, letting her fall; he'd already pulled the mattress closer with his telekinesis. She was still wearing the blindfold and was perhaps expecting to be caught, because there was a muted shriek when she landed with a bounce. She managed to roll onto her side, her breath coming in urgent, pained sobs.

Nate used his booted foot to turn her face down and gave her a few moments. He circled the mattress, finally nudging her in the ribs when she stayed completely still.  

There was a spike of alarm, and he wasn't even sure if he read it from her mind or heard it in the panicky little noise she made, but it doused his excitement immediately. He sat down next to her, took off her blindfold. She kept her eyes shut, so he slipped his hand into hers, still bound behind her back.

Her breathing didn't sound too strained, and he gave her a moment, feeling her pulse come down.

After a while Nate squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back, much calmer now.

"Do you remember your safeword?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you want to say it right now?"

"Nope," she mumbled, a little strained by the way she was laying on her front. "Just a flash. Booted feet. Better now."

Relief rushed through him at that. "Okay. Do you want to continue?"

"Can you take off your boots?" she asked in a small voice, and he chuckled, bending down to do it immediately. "Thank you. Then yes."

It felt a little strange, getting back into the mindset in bare feet, but perhaps they'd both needed this moment, the tension break. Cable was relieved to have it confirmed that any excitement and pleasure in what he was doing had disappeared at the first sign of real distress in her. He might not be a good man, but he wasn't so far gone that he'd conflate this situation with an interrogation on a mission.

 

He idly stroked her back, trying to decide how to get back into the scene. She squirmed ticklishly, and he chuckled, getting an idea. He used the rope harness to lift her up and put her in the middle of the mattress, then straddled her thighs and began to untie it.

He could sense her uncertainty, if he was ending the scene, if she'd failed somehow, but she didn't ask.

"Got plenty on my list, still," he said as he put the hemp rope to the side. He aimed for somewhere halfway between reassurance and threat, and judging by the way she tensed, hit his mark.

He allowed her to flex her hands and arms for a moment before using leather straps to attach them to her thighs, giving himself access to all of her back.

Nice or mean? He followed instinct and caressed her back for long moments, following the lines of her vitiligo marks, tracing her back muscles and the lines of her ribs, massaging the spot between her shoulder blades where she carried her tension. As she began to relax, sink into his touch, he put more weight behind that massage, found the spots that made her groan and dug in his thumbs. Made it the kind of backrub that was more torture than pleasure, digging into her muscles and kneading her flesh until she was groaning with the pain of it.

Despite the pain he had learned that this was well within her comfort zone, something much closer to nice than to mean, which was why he wasn't surprised when she relaxed, surrendering herself into his hands. As gratifying as that was, it was clearly time to change it up.

He leaned forward, dropping the weight of his torso onto her, and she grunted an 'Oh fuck' as the air was forced out of her lungs. He chuckled and slipped his hand over her nose and mouth.

He stayed down like that, face close to hers, choking her by compression until her eyes flew open wide, until her fingers instinctively started scrabbling for purchase

Sitting back up, he dug his right hand into her hair and raked his metal fingertips down her spine. She jolted up into his grip, still gasping, and he counted out loud, slow and clear: "Five, four, three, two, one," and dropped his weight onto her again.

He did the same thing twice more, giving her five seconds to gasp for air before he took it again. Each time, she stayed relatively calm, riding it out until her body forced her to start fighting against it.

The next time, he leaned back down on 'four,' on her exhale.

 _Imply a rule, then break it_ , was one of the most effective concepts about interrogation. Somebody who expected you to be governed by rules, external or internal, could be shocked right out of their coping mechanisms when you broke those rules.

She reacted just as expected, jolted out of her relative cool, struggling against him with instinctive fear. He cupped the back of her head to avoid getting headbutted.

He kept her much shorter that time, though he suspected it felt like an age to her. Then he rolled off of her and helped her onto her side, stroking her hair back while she caught her breath. She leaned into his touch, still seeking comfort, and he couldn't help himself, bent over her to kiss her forehead. The amount of trust she had in him, to let him do these things, blew him away.  

He untied her legs, leaving only the wrist-to-thigh straps, and she curled up a little more comfortably.

"Look at me."

She often had her eyes closed in intense moments between them, and could rarely meet his eyes in scenes like this. It was that final level of vulnerability she struggled to give up. That just made it more intriguing to him - he wasn't here to make things easy for her.

He rolled her onto her back and put a hand on the mattress on her far side so he could lean over her, blocking her in.

" _Look_ . At. Me," he repeated, letting his voice go hard. He leaned in, almost nose to nose with her. " _Now._ "

She whimpered and then those amazingly odd coloured eyes drifted open. Unfocused at first, dreamy - she was high on endorphins. She blinked slowly, and he could feel her startled jolt when she finally focused enough to see just how close he was. She reflexively tried to turn her face away, so he made a forbidding sound, and watched her freeze as if he'd hypnotised her.

Fuck, the _rush_ of this. He felt like it lit him up inside; come to think of it, he might be a little high too. He pressed a harsh kiss to her lips, invaded her mouth with his tongue. She was slow to respond, dazed, and just when she began to kiss back he broke the kiss, got up without a backward look.

She made a soft, bereft little sound, and he resisted the urge to look, deliberately kept his back to her.

He'd had several more ideas on his list, depending on how the night would go, but seeing how spaced out she was made him dismiss most of them as no longer fitting the moment. He took some things out of the wooden chest (big enough to fit her inside, if he was of a mind to, but not tonight) and sat down on its lid, leaning back against the wall.

She'd turned onto her side, following him with her gaze. He waited until he had her full attention and put one of his knives next to him with a precise click on the wood.

"Come here."

She was looking somewhere in the vicinity of his feet, but the sudden tension in her body made it clear she'd heard him, and she didn't move. He didn't think it was refusal - though in the more usual context, he'd have treated it that way to great effect. Perhaps she couldn't decide if obeying would be worse than not doing so, or being given a choice had tripped her up, or perhaps in the absence of _fight_ and _flight_ options, her brain had finally gone for _freeze_.

"Do I need to come get you?" he asked, deliberately neutral. He wanted to know where her head was at, if she'd interpret it a threat or an offer of help.

She curled up a little tighter, defensive, her eyes closing.

"All right, then," he said calmly, getting up. She took a shuddering breath when he stood over her, and as he knelt to slide his arms around her she tucked her chin against her chest. Lifting her, he used his telekinesis to put a cushion where he wanted it, in front of the wooden chest. He gently set her down on it and resumed his seat on the chest, nudging her to lean against his leg.

She did so with something much like relief, as if she was comforted by being given something to do that wouldn't be wrong. She curled herself around his calf, her cheek resting on his thigh, her eyes closed.

Nate considered the knife. They'd both enjoyed it in the past, him using her back for a canvas, not cutting but scraping red welt lines into her skin. He'd thought to end on that, suspending her between pain and comforting touch.

"Neena, do you remember your safeword?"

It took a long moment for her eyes to open, and she frowned as if he'd asked her for an essay on geo-politics.

"Assshole," she finally said, slowly and a little slurred, "can barely 'member m'own name."

He bit his lip to hold on to his stern expression at this spark of her usual sass.

"If you remembered it," nope, his tone was definitely hitting 'amused' right now, "would you want to say it right now?"

"Nah, 'm good," she smiled a little dopily, mindlessly rubbing her cheek against his thigh. "Green."

"Oh good." He stroked her mass of hair with both hands, gathering it all back with a good firm grip, and hauled her up onto her knees, sudden enough to make her gasp. He steered her head so that she was looking up at him. When he concentrated, he could see the glow of his own eye reflecting in her eyes, as he used his telekinesis to bring his favourite knife to float in front of her face. "Now, would you like to repeat what you just called me?"

Her eyes were wide like saucers, and he wondered if she'd meant it as a deliberate provocation or if it had just slipped out. Not that it mattered.

"Sit still, just like that, until I say you can move. Is that clear?"

She gave a tiny, timid little nod, and he let go of her, spreading his knees wider so she was kneeling between them, in easy reach. He plucked the knife from the air and let the blade rest on her shoulder, sharp side against her skin.

Her eyes fell shut, but he let that slide, mesmerised by how her entire body went tense like a spring.

The knife he was using was his heavy combat knife, not exactly blunt but not so sharp it would pierce skin under just its own weight. He leisurely let it slide down her shoulder, across the sensitive skin of her inner arm, and grinned when her hands balled into fists, her breath in short bursts, her entire body working to contain her twitching.

Further down her arm now, so light it had to be more ticklish than painful, and her jaw was clenched, her eyes squeezed shut.

He lifted the knife and immediately followed the same path with his metal fingers, scratching hard enough to raise reddening welt lines. Her grunt of pain was music to his ears, but she also relaxed a little, as if it eased the tension he'd built with the knife.   

He lightly placed the tip of his knife at the top of her thigh, and her entire body jolted at the unexpected touch. He had turned the blade around so he was scraping more than anything, though he didn't think she could tell. It gave him a sadistic rush to find her sensitive spots with the knife; the side of her breast, the insides of her thighs. He alternated painful with ticklish and drank in the way she fought not to move, the way her entire body vibrated with the tension of containing herself.

He didn't touch her otherwise, not even to turn her around. He was probably overextending himself with the telekinesis, but it was easy enough to slide the cushion around until she was with her back to him.

She was breathing harshly, head hanging down, vulnerable line of her spine bared to him. The times they'd done this before, he'd let her touch him, lean on his leg. Had steadied her with his free hand, balanced comfort with pain.

This was something new, building up the tension this far. Letting her feel unmoored, immobilised by nothing but her fear.

He traced lines onto her back until he could hear her teeth chatter, until he could feel nothing but blank static in her mind. Then, all at once, he dropped the knife and wrapped his bionic hand around her throat, pulling her back and up toward him, helplessly suspended by his hand. Before she had time for any sort of reaction, he dug his teeth into the flesh of her trapezius muscle.

Her guttural, animal cry made him hold on longer than he'd intended, lost in the incredible high of this. She was sobbing soundlessly, the skin of her throat was wet with tears, and finally he eased off. He could still hear his own blood pounding.

 

Nate lowered her back down on her heels and soothed the bitemark with gentle, open mouthed kisses.

"We're done, we're done," he whispered against her skin.

He undid the restraints and tossed them away, kissing her temple, then seated himself on the ground just behind her. Neena held herself upright, muscles still stiff, and he could feel her hesitation about if she was allowed to seek comfort now. He lightly rubbed her upper arms, making soothing noises.

"Shhh, it's done. You've been so brave for me. I'm proud."

After what felt like a long time she shakily straightened her legs, muscles trembling, and he gently tugged her to lean back against his chest, folding her into his arms. She turned sideways a little, curling into him with a sob of relief, hiding her face into his shoulder.

He draped a blanket over her and offered her some water, giving them both some time to calm down, his fingers lightly playing in her hair. When her breath was no longer hitching he guided her forward and applied disinfectant spray to her scrapes, murmuring apologetically when it stung.

 

Finally he scooped her up, blanket and all, and took her into the living room to sit on the couch with her. He'd put some things out there beforehand in anticipation of this moment, and took his time arranging her in his lap, blanket tucked around her, her head against his shoulder.

She was still hiding her face, and he was trying not to let it worry him. She always felt raw after a scene, too open, too exposed. No matter how much he wanted to see her face right now, he needed to let her hide for a while.

He was used to doing this routine with her; offering soothing touch, drinks and snacks and reassurance. The first few times she'd been embarrassed about being clingy, but now it was a comforting ritual for both of them, slowly getting out of the headspace of the scene. He'd always thought of it as something he mostly did for her, to make sure she was all right, and he hadn't been quite ready for how much he himself needed reassurance right now. Fuck, the things he'd done—the way she'd responded—how much he'd _enjoyed_ that—had he gone too far? He'd pushed her so far by the end, fucking hell, why hadn't he stopped sooner?

"Are you okay?" he whispered, pressing his lips against her temple. He stroked back the lion's mane of her hair so he could see the side of her face. Her eyes were closed, but she didn't look upset.  

She made an affirmative sort of hum.

Stroking her hair like this revealed the teeth mark he'd left on the back of her neck, and he hurriedly let the hair fall back down. That was going to be an ugly bruise tomorrow. It wasn't the first time he'd bit her like that, it was a kind of pain she enjoyed, but he remembered how she'd felt with her throat caught between his hand and his teeth, how excited he'd been in that moment by her pain and fear, how close to letting himself go. Fuck, he was pretty sure the other bite would look even worse, he suddenly remembered he'd tasted copper on that one.

She apparently surfaced from her stupor enough to sense his mood.

"Y'okay?"

"Freaking out a bit," he admitted reluctantly. He didn't want to make it her job to reassure him, after everything he'd just done.

She pushed away from him, and he immediately opened his arms to let her go, alarmed—did she not want to be close to him anymore? Had he fucked up that badly? Then he realised she was tugging at his shirt, wanting him to take it off.

He did so, and she climbed astride his lap, facing him, eyes still closed. She moved loose-limbed and a little clumsy, high on endorphins. He sighed with relief when she leaned into his chest, skin to skin, letting him feel her steady breathing. Her arms went around him, and he took a deep breath, chest expanding in the circle of her arms, not having realised how much he'd needed for her to hold him back until she did. She huffed an amused breath as she sank back down with his exhale.

He pulled his legs up onto the couch, turning sideways so he could lean against the armrest cushions, the blanket wrapped around them both.

Neena nuzzled his shoulder for a few moments, trying and failing to find a comfortable spot to rest her cheek, and gave a disgruntled little nip on his collarbone. "Boney," she mumbled with drowsy disapproval.

Whatever he'd been about to say dried up on his tongue when she moved her head to his other shoulder, apparently finding the bionic cables and plating an acceptable headrest. He shifted her up a little higher, and she nestled her nose under his ear with a pleased hum, lips right against the seam of scarred flesh where a metallic vein crawled up his neck. He swallowed thickly.  

"Better, sweet girl?" Nate asked when he had command of his voice again.

"Mmm. You?"

"A little," he admitted. The way she seemed happy to cling to him, the way she was hugging him, went a way toward reassuring that he hadn't done any serious damage.  

"Good…" she mumbled against his skin. "...pizza later?"

"Mm-hm," he agreed. Their order was already set up in his phone, all he needed to do was hit 'confirm'.

"And then…?"

He chuckled softly. The usual aftercare routine involved a snooze, shower, pizza, and then usually sex - the kind that he'd call _making love_ , sweet and romantic and gentle. He hadn't been sure she'd still want that, after he'd gone this far.

"And then that, if you want," he agreed, pressing a smiling kiss to her shoulder.

"Mmm," she purred.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Feedback? *pleading face*


End file.
